


What happens in the Military of the Elven Republic of Atoa...

by ChroniclesOfAtoa (silentplanetgirl)



Series: Chronicles of Atoa: Scales, Feathers and Seven Swords [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Feels, Army, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, High Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Intrigue, M/M, Military, Military Background, Military Ranks, Military Training, Physical Abuse, Political Alliances, Political Parties, Politics, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Sexism, Slow Burn, Verbal Abuse, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23885785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentplanetgirl/pseuds/ChroniclesOfAtoa
Summary: This is a mini-series set in the same universe as my other fic, Snake Eyes. It takes place 5 years before the events of Snake Eyes. At least one of these characters (Aevalor) has already appeared in SE. The rest will probably appear at least once (except Xanthippi the tavern-maid). This fic takes place in Caelipoli, the capital of the Elven Republic of Atoa. It tells the story of a romance between one of the main characters of Snake Eyes, Aevalor Gendry, and a side character named Urilar Iliren.Almost all the characters are Avariel or winged Elf. In this setting they are referred to as "Caelian Elves."
Relationships: Aevalor Gendry/Urilar Iliren, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Chronicles of Atoa: Scales, Feathers and Seven Swords [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724959
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

Citizen-Sergeant Aevalor Gendry, Servant and Defender of the Elven Republic of Atoa, and instructor at the Army’s Scouting School, did not enjoy parties. It wasn’t that he disliked being around others, quite the contrary. He was known all over Caelipoli as someone who enjoyed talking to people. The soldiers serving under him knew him as a patient, if firm, teacher and supervisor of scouting drills. The workers at the local whorehouse all knew his name, even though he’d never entered its threshold as a client. Even the young woman serving drinks at the tavern known as the Swift Eagle Inn, had smiled in recognition as she caught sight of Aevalor’s lavender, iridescent wings. 

No, his lack of affinity for parties had nothing to any kind of antisocial tendency on his part. Really, it was just awkward. The Privates training at the various schools for Scouting, Archery, Battlefield Logistics, Healing, and different types of Magical practice, always took holidays as opportunities to drink, play pranks, and raise all sorts of hell. This rankled Aevalor who, as an instructor at the Scouting School, couldn’t help but feel protective of the privates who counted on him for counsel. 

“Drills tomorrow are going to be a nightmare,” the Citizen-Sergeant muttered to himself as he sat down at the Swift Eagle’s bar.

The atmosphere in the inn was especially festive. Earlier that day all soldiers in the Republic’s Army had supervised parades, flown above the city of Caelipoli in a variety of eye-catching formations, sung songs, overseen games, all to celebrate the anniversary of the Republic’s victory over the Ophionite Empire over a thousand years before. 

Fireworks had been set off, parades had marched through the streets of the Republic’s capital, and now that their duties were finished, the soldiers themselves had finally gathered in the Swifteagle to drink themselves senseless and ring in another year of safety and prosperity for the diverse and prosperous nation. 

Aevalor’s father, the Proxenos or leader of the Republic, had given a stirring speech on the steps of the Hall of Martyrs, all centered on the strength of the Republic, and the need to maintain unity among the Republic’s diverse and multi-racial population. The speech itself had been widely interpreted as a nod to the more liberal branch of the Coalition Party, which had made gains in the Elven Senate and the Gallery in the previous year’s election. Conservatives in both the Coalition party and the fringe, Elven-Supremacist Krylonian League, had looked on with barely concealed contempt. 

Almost none of this political discord had manifested itself in the midst of the revelry taking place in the Swift Eagle Tavern. A few naive young privates from the Scout School, emboldened by ale, had approached Aevalor to congratulate him on his father's re-election. All of their congratulations had been met with a cool dismissal on the part of their instructor. It wasn’t that Aevalor wasn’t proud of his father. He was. However he believed that, as soldiers were bound to serve the citizens of the Republic no matter how those citizens voted, those serving in the army would do well to focus more on being soldiers rather than political constituents. It was for this very reason that soldiers were barred from voting in elections themselves anyway, he’d explained. The privates had nodded somberly, each of them looking somewhat fearful before Aevalor smiled at them in reassurance and warned them not to drink too much. They’d meant well, he decided. It wasn’t any use making a large fuss out of nothing. 

Now that he was alone at the bar again, Aevalor gestured discreetly to the barmaid who had greeted him when he came it. 

“Evening Citizen Xanthippi,” he said in Common with a salute. The barmaid, who couldn’t have been older than 16, blushed deeply and bowed. 

“Citizen-Sergeant,” she replied in Elven with wide eyes. 

“To you as well,” Aevalor answered in Elven. “Tell me, what possessed Citizen Zunoni to leave you to face us vultures by yourself?” he teased.

Xanthippi’s color deepened, and her smile widened. “He does not worry when you are here.”

Aevalor’s feathers bristled pleasantly at the compliment. “I’m honored your father sees me as worthy of such trust—”

“Of course he does!” Xanthippi interrupted, in Common, before she could stop herself.

Aevalor raised an eyebrow in concern. The young human was getting very, very pink. “Are you alright? You seem rather flushed.”

“I’m f-fine,” the barmaid stammered in embarrassment. “Just need some water. Can I get you anything?” 

“I’ll have my usual, Xanthippi, thank you.”

The barmaid nodded, and quickly ducked behind the counter to get the drinks. 

_Human women truly are strange,_ Aevalor thought to himself. The Citizen-Sergeant’s “usual” was a mixture composed of 10 parts water and 1 part ale that he would probably spend the rest of the night nursing. 

When Xanthippi returned, her color was a bit more regular, and she was balancing a large tankard and teacup on her tray. 

“Ah, thank you,” Aevalor exclaimed, before realizing that the teacup had also been placed on his table. “What’s this?”

“It’s just tea, Citizen-Sergeant, to help you stay awake. We just got an import in from Kutatesh.”

“Oh, thanks. You’re very kind. How much do I owe you?” 

“One copper piece for the ale. That’s it. The tea is on the house.” 

Aevalor removed a silver piece from his purse. “Here, take the extra and buy yourself something tomorrow.”

The barmaid’s face flushed crimson once again. “Oh no Sir, I couldn’t—”

“I insist,” Aevalor interrupted. 

Xanthippi tentatively picked up the silver piece and beamed. “Thank you sir, Happy Victory Day. Long Live the Republic.” 

Aevalor raised the teacup in a sort of toast as the young woman took her leave. Once she had gone, he slouched back into his chair. 

_Long Live the Republic Indeed_ , he thought to himself. It was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally get a chapter from Urilar's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Aevalor being a clueless homosexual, Anxiety, Drunken Elven Singing, Urilar being a horny ball of anxiety  
> I really hope you guys like my obnoxious elven drinking song! I worked really hard on it and its TERRIBLE!

“All Right Citizen-Comrades! I expect you all to know this one!” A drunken human bard bellowed as he lifted his fiddle to his chin. 

As soon as the first few notes had been played, the elves making up the small chorus that had operated in the Capitol for thousands of years broke into song. Among them was Citizen-Private Urilar Iliren, a recent graduate of the Republic’s military academy. The chorus itself was known as the Philomel Society, and Urilar had only joined it two months before.

This had been his first Victory Day as a non-cadet in the Army’s Scouting School. To be honest, it was all a bit overwhelming, but there wasn’t time to think about that as the Philomelians launched into their next song. 

_WHEN I WAS WALKING DOWN THE STREETS OF OLD CAELIPOLI/I MET A ONE-EYED HAIRY LASS BENEATH THE OLD OAK TREE/SHE BATS HER SINGLE EYE AND SAYS ‘I’M YOURS FOR TEN BRONZE PISSES’/I SHRUG AND SAY ‘I’M SORRY DEAR, I’M NOT ON THE WALK FOR KISSES’/OOOOOOOH..._

Urilar winced slightly. The ale had done much to take the edge off his inhibitions, but it couldn’t take the edge off the pitchiness of the Tavern’s inhabitants. 

_MY LADIES AND MY LASSES/BE YOU MAIDEN, CRONE, OR WHORE/I’LL TELL YOU STRAIGHT AND FRONT-LIKE/THAT AS MEN GO I’M A BORE/FOR THOUGH I LIKE MY KISSES SWEET/I’M NOT LOOKING FOR A MISSES/OOOOOOHH…”_

There was a brief pause as the fiddle-player rested his bow on a higher note.

_FOR I AN ELVEN WARRIOR AM!/AND THIS BLUE SKY’S MY MISTRESS!_

As the singers paused to catch their breath, Urilar glanced around the tavern to take stock of the people watching. He could see his instructor from the Scouting School, Citizen-Sergeant Gendry chatting with the human barmaid at his table. He looked calm and cheerful. His eyes were bright and alert, and his smile was warm. 

The human barmaid’s was noticeably flustered, though Gendry himself seemed hardly conscious of this. Either way, it was very obvious what she thought of him. 

_Is he being polite or just dense_? Urilar thought to himself. The way in which the young human was looking at the Sergeant prompted a pang of...something...in Urilar’ chest. He was too drunk to tell what it was. Before he could begin to dwell on it, he caught a glimpse of a figure out of the corner of his eye, and immediately felt his heart fall into his stomach. 

His cousin, Citizen-Sergeant Krispin Sylvanis, Servant and Defender of the Elven Republic of Atoa, and instructor of Battlefield Logistics for the Army, had entered the tavern with a large group of his fellow soldiers. Krispin had obviously been drinking far longer than Urilar had. It was only natural, the Private told himself. Elves had an especially high tolerance for alcohol, and Krispin was no exception. That being said, Krispin was already known for having a temper, and drinking almost always made it worse.

True to form, Urilar's cousin sneered slightly in contempt as he caught sight of the younger elf. Urilar wished that the could cocoon himself in his violet wings and will himself out of existence. He wasn’t quite sure what he had done to anger his cousin this time around, not that Sylvanis needed a reason to be cross with Urilar. Before Urilar could begin to wrap his head around what he might have done to earn Krispin’s wrath, the older elf’s face suddenly fell from a look of contempt to a look of outright fury and hatred, however his eyes were no longer looking towards Urilar. 

Urilar followed his cousin’s gaze to the back of the tavern, where Citizen-Sergeant Aevalor Gendry, now alone, stared back at his fellow instructor. Gendry’s eyes were perfectly calm, although his face was somber. 

Urilar had never yet seen the Scouting-Instructor get angry or raise his voice at anyone. It was difficult for him to imagine anyone hating the Citizen-Sergeant, least of all Krispin. 

Once again, he was jerked out of his thoughts, this time by the shouting of the bard and the opening notes of the second verse of “And This Blue Sky’s My Mistress.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second and third verses of "This Blue Sky" is as follows, and yes, they're also awful and REALLY fun to sing by yourself when you're in quarantine:
> 
> I’m wint’ring in Lernayin in the middle of a blizzard  
> When some fair lass cooks up a dish to warm my freezing gizzard  
> She lifts aloft her petticoat askin’ that I satisfy her  
> I smile and say ‘I’m sorry dear, but I’m tumbling with another’  
> OOOOOOOOOOOHH!  
> [Chorus]  
> I’m dining fine here at the house of Citizen Langmuir  
> When a winged maid comes up to me and whispers in my ear  
> ‘I think it would be prudent, dear, if we were to be wed’  
> I say ‘that’s fine, but you should know I’ll rarely be in bed’  
> OOOOOOOOOOOHH!  
> [Chorus]


	3. Chapter 3

It was shortly before the Philomel Society launched into the second verse of the song they’d been singing that Aevalor caught sight of a new group of elves entering the tavern. Leading them was his old school-mate, Krispin Sylvanis. Aevalor briefly clenched his fist before realizing that his fellow instructor had failed to make note of his presence. Instead, he was sneering at someone else, Aevalor didn’t know who. He could already tell that Sylvanis was deeply, unspeakably drunk. 

_ How’s he going to get to lessons with the Privates early enough if he drinks like this? _ Aevalor thought to himself in frustration. Suddenly he remembered that it didn’t matter. Sylvanis could be as late as he liked to whatever event he pleased. His father, Senator Ianric Sylvanis, had always made sure of that. Just as Aevalor lifted his third mug of tea to his lips, Sylvanis’ gaze shifted. 

_ Ah, bother _ , Aevalor thought. Now Sylvanis had seen him.  _ He can’t do anything _ , Aevalor reminded himself.  _ He’s too drunk.  _ Either way, Aevalor couldn’t help but feel guilty that he was in the Swifteagle. Perhaps he should ask Xanthippi to wake up her father. It couldn’t hurt. At least if the situation deteriorated, she wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout. 

Sylvanis slumped into one of the chairs, where he continued to glower at Aevalor. Thankfully, at that moment, the song finished and the bard gave a rousing shout. “ALRIGHT LADS, It’s 2 in the morning! What song would ye like to sing next?!” 

“Make the New Bird Sing Leokian’s Farewell!” someone in the crowd shouted, and the rest of the soldiers immediately followed suit. Aevalor turned his attention to the members of the Philomel Society as the bard strummed out a note. 


	4. Chapter 4

Urilar knew that as a new member of the society he would be expected to sing something that night. However he desperately wished that such a demand had been made of him earlier in the evening, when he hadn’t had quite so much to drink. No matter. At least the song was one that he knew. Swallowing his apprehension, he stepped into the half circle that had been formed by the rest of the Society. He tried to forget that Sylvanis was there, or that his cousin even existed. 

_ Sergeant Gendry is here _ , Urilar thought to himself.  _ At least if I fuck up, he won’t care.  _ He took a breath as the bard strummed the opening notes of the song. 

_ “As the thunderclouds pass over the blazing morning sunlight/And currents awaken beneath the blue sea/There is tightness in my chest and great coldness in my body/As we face the heat of our enemies wrath…” _

The rest of the tavern was silent, as they usually were when new members of the Philomel Society were asked to sing. However, the mood had noticeably changed. The song, Leokian’s Farewell, wasn’t a very old song, but it had already been established as a favorite within the army. It had been written by the elven poetess Ravalee Langmuir, who had been killed when Ophionite agents had launched an attack on the city of Lunapoli. It had been fifteen years since the attack, barely any time at all for the notoriously long-lived elves, and the memory of the attacks was still incredibly fresh. The fact that the song was written about the war against the Ophionites only added to the raw emotion it inspired in those who heard it. Urilar tried very hard not to let this make him nervous as he launched into the chorus. 

Now that he’d managed to sing the first verse without messing up, the rest of the Philomel Society joined him in the singing of the chorus.

_ By the void and the bog, the rivers, and mountains, the steppes and the hills and the sea/We shall lift up our swords, though we be but ashes/By heavenly mercy no offerings are we _

Urilar quietly glanced over at his cousin, who was still scowling at him from the other side of the room.  _ No use fretting over it, _ he thought to himself.  _ There’s nothing I can do about it, not now.  _

The rest of the verses came and went in a bit of a blur. Urilar felt as though his soul had up and left his body to go through the motions of finishing the song. It wasn’t until the beginning of the last verse that he was finally jerked out of his own thoughts, and brought back to reality. He quickly bucked up, and channeled his remaining energy on finishing the final version of the chorus, as the rest of the tavern broke out into cheers. 

“Happy Victory Day, Comrades!” a chorus member slurred, clapping Urilar on the shoulder. Urilar couldn’t help but recoil. His mouth had suddenly become terribly, terribly dry, and he felt like he was going to be sick. He glanced back at the table where Silvanis had been sitting, only to find that the Sergeant was talking animatedly to his friends. Now was Urilar’s chance. He ducked out of the crowd and quickly made his way towards the bar. Once there, he doubled over, burying his face in his arms. 

_ By the Stars, _ he thought to himself,  _ I need a drink. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Anxiety inducing cliff hanger

Aevalor had been applauding with the rest of the tavern when he noticed the Society’s newest member ducking out of the throng and stumbling towards the bar. The younger elf looked incredibly green. 

_Shit_ , Aevalor thought to himself. The widespread belief among elven soldiers that alcohol sickness was best treated with another tankard of ale had proven to be the undoing of too many elves for the Sergeant to not be concerned. He quietly got up and made his way over towards the bar. 

“Hail, Citizen-Private!” He called out. 

Urilar immediately stood at attention. “Citizen-Sergeant! Hell—I mean—Hail…” he said a little weakly. “I apologize—I’m not feeling well. Do you know where I could get something to drink?”

“You weren’t thinking of ordering more ale for yourself were you?” Aevalor asked. “It’ll just make you feel even more thirsty than you already are.”

Urilar let out a grim laugh. “Dunno if I can afford anything else, sir.” This was the truth. The Private’s Victory Day Bonus had been paid to him in advance the week before so he could send it to his father. He had a few bronze coins in his pocket, and nothing else. 

The Sergeant frowned in dismay. “How about some water, or tea? I can pay—”

Urilar immediately felt his heart fall into his stomach. “Oh—Stars—No—I couldn’t—”

“It’s alright,” Aevalor interrupted cheerfully. “I got my victory day bonus yesterday, so I’m a bit flush at the moment. What would you like?” 

Urilar knew he ought to be more suspicious of the Sergeant’s generosity than he was, but Aevalor’s expression was so earnest, that the Private couldn’t help himself.

“Y-you mentioned tea,” he murmured. 

“Tea it’ll be then,” Aevalor replied glancing towards Xanthippi, who was wiping down the bar. She caught his eye and ran over immediately. 

“Is everything alright sir?” she asked anxiously. 

“Yes, quite, I was just wondering if I could get another cup of tea for my friend, and some water as well.” Aevalor quickly turned back to Urilar. “Have you eaten?” 

Urilar shook his head. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, when he’d spent his last silver piece on a roll at the market. 

“How do you feel about some bread and cheese?” Aevalor asked the younger elf. 

“Bread and cheese would be lovely,” Urilar answered. 

Xanthippi nodded and darted back to the kitchen. 

“How long have you known her?” the Private asked. 

“Oh, the Zunonis have run this tavern since before the Republic was founded. My father used to come here when he was in the army, just as his father did before him,” Aevalor took another sip of tea. “However, I’ve only known Citizen Xanthippi since I graduated from the academy.”

Urilar wondered once again as to the Sergeant’s ignorance of the young human’s fancy. However in the interest of prudence, he decided to let the matter drop. 

Aevalor’s eyes had wandered back to the other side of the room where Silvanis was still sitting. The other Sergeant had stopped talking to his friends and was now glaring with unconcealed fury at the table where Aevalor and Urilar were sitting. Urilar shuddered slightly. Aevalor seemed tense, but undaunted. 

“I think my cousin hates you,” Urilar blurted out. The words were out before he could stop himself. Aevalor’s eyes immediately widened in surprise. 

“Sorry—That’s not—I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. He hates me too,” Urilar stammered. “I get why he hates me, I’m rubbish. Dunno what feather he’s got to pick with you though.”

Aevalor’s expression immediately softened. He knew it wasn’t wise to detail his entire history with Silvanis to a Private, much less one who Aevalor had been charged with training, so he decided to keep the details. 

“Sergeant Silvanis and I were students at the Military Academy together,” he said with equanimity. “While there, we had some...difficulties, however I have nothing but respect for him as a fellow soldier.” The first part of this statement was completely true. The latter was a patent falsehood that even Urilar managed to see through. The Sergeant was obviously trying to be diplomatic, which made sense, but the effort he was expending to maintain the charade was significant, and visibly so. 

“I’m sorry,” Urilar responded sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m such a dunce—”

“Don’t say that about yourself, it’s alright.” Aevalor interrupted gently. 

Urilar quietly gazed up at the Sergeant’s face. The gentle regard in his expression made the Private feel very, very warm. The fact that Aevalor was attractive hardly helped matters. 

_It’s because he feels bad for me._ Urilar thought to himself. _That’s it. Nothing else. I can’t kid myself._ Thankfully, Xanthippi’s return with the tea, bread, water, and cheese pulled the younger elf out of his thoughts. 

The two soldiers continued to sit at the table. Aevalor spoke about the Tavern’s history, how the patriarch of the Zunoni family had fled what had then been the Ophionite Empire shortly before the Autumn Rebellion, and settled in Caelipoli, in the heart of what had been the old Elven Tribal Confederation that preceded the Republic. The tavern itself had burned down multiple times, but generous investment from Elven former clients and their descendents had always allowed the human family to rebuild. 

“I can’t complain,” Urilar responded before taking another sip of tea. He was feeling significantly better now that he’d eaten. A decent amount of color had returned to his face, and he was no longer slurring his words as badly as he had been. “Thank you, by the way. I needed this.”

Aevalor flashed a grin that made Urilar’s heart skip a beat. “Again, no trouble. I’m happy you’re feeling better.”

At this point most of the elven soldiers had begun to leave the tavern so they could fly back to Fort Redwing, where they trained, ate, and slept. 

“I should probably go,” Urilar observed. 

“That would probably be wise. We start training in five hours.”

Urilar raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit late.”

Aevalor let out a low laugh. “Still too early for some people. You’re alright to fly, right? It’s clear out. That should make things easier.”

Urilar nodded. “Yea, I’ll be fine.”

“See you at training tomorrow, Iliren.”

The Private felt his face grow very warm. He hadn’t realized that the older Elven Warrior knew his name. “Y-you too,” he stammered.

The Sergeant quickly got up from the table, tossed two silver pieces on the table, gave a final salute to a very sleepy looking Xanthippi and quietly exited the tavern. 

Urilar lingered for a moment to finish his tea, and watch as the tavern emptied out. Suddenly a tall shadow appeared over the table and the Private's heart leapt up into his throat.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok MAJOR CW FOR: Anxiety, emotional abuse, barely thwarted physical abuse, sexually explicit insults, misogyny, and in-universe elven supremacist fantasy racism. This is probably the angstiest chapter I've written for this story (yet).  
> There is pining at the end though, as a treat.

“Have a nice night?” A low voice slurred. 

Urilar immediately felt his feathers stand on end as he looked up at his cousin. Silvanis was standing over the table, looking in disgust at the two silver pieces. “How the fuck did you pay for that?” 

“I d-didn’t,” Urilar responded. “I swear by the stars.” 

“You didn’t answer my first question,” the older elf sneered. 

The Private immediately panicked. He hadn’t realized there’d been another question. “I’m sorry. C-could you repeat it?”

Silvanis sneered. “Did you have a nice night?” 

Urilar wasn’t sure what the correct answer to that question was, so he decided to tell the truth. At least Silvanis wouldn’t be able to say that the younger elf had lied to him. 

“I did.” he answered. “H-have a nice night that is.”

Silvanis let out a cold, cruel laugh. “How many cocks did you have to suck to get them to let you into the Philomel Society without paying dues?” 

Urilar felt the heat rise up in his face. “Citizen-Sergeant Paydark waived them for me.”

The older elf’s eyes suddenly darted upwards. “The fuck are you looking at, human?” he slurred. 

Urilar glanced back at the bar. Xanthippi was clutching her tray in her hands, staring at the two winged figures with a mixture of terror and resolve. 

“Y-you,” she said pointing at Silvanis. “You c-can’t use language like that in this establishment. I won’t have it. It’s not nice.” She quickly turned to Urilar. “Is he bothering you?” 

Urilar couldn’t help but feel a small amount of admiration for the young human, not that Silvanus needed to know that. 

The older elf looked the young girl up and down. She was very short and pudgy, with red hair, copper skin and a large amount of freckles peppered across her cheeks. Her face was still round with baby fat, and she still looked a lot like a child. 

“Keep your nose out of this, little girl,” Silvanis leered. 

Xanthippi scowled and pointed her tray at the Sergeant. “I’ll mind my business if you mind your tongue.” She lowered her tray and cast a hesitant glance at Urilar. “Happy Victory Day, Citizen Private Iliren,” she murmured before taking her leave. 

Silvanis looked patently outraged. The girl hadn’t even saluted him, or apologized. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he swiped Urilar’s teacup off the table, and threw it straight at the girl.

“LOOK OUT!” Urilar shouted. Xanthippi turned around, saw the teacup hurtling towards her and covered her face with her tray as she screamed. The teacup shattered against the large piece of wood as soon as it made impact.

“You mind your manners when you speak to me you wingless little rat, or I’ll have you flogged on the Fort Green!”

Xanthippi dropped her tray and immediately ran towards the bell that hung from the brick wall. It was meant to be used as an alarm to wake the rest of her family. 

“Xanthippi Stop!” Urilar shouted. 

The human girl obeyed, mostly out of shock that the Private knew her by name.

“P-please. We’re leaving. I’m sorry.”

“Who said we’re leaving?” Silvanis snapped. 

“We need to get back to the fort,” Urilar replied helplessly. “Please. I’ll pay for the cup.” 

The older elf sneered. “You and I need to talk. I’ll meet you in the cloister once you’ve finished training, when everyone else is eating lunch. Don’t be late.”

“Yes Sir. I won’t.”

Silvanis turned back to Xanthippi with a menacing grin. “Long live the Republic, sweetheart,” he slurred before taking his leave. 

Urilar did not follow his cousin out of the tavern. He wasn’t quite sure if his legs were working. A few minutes after Silvanis had left, he heard a voice ring out from the middle of the room.

“Sir? Are you ill?” Xanthippi was crouched over the shattered teacup, sweeping the pieces into a dustpan. Urilar immediately felt a pang of guilt. 

“N-no. I’m so-sorry,” he stammered in Common. He didn’t want to start sobbing like a child in front of a civilian, and a human no less. Besides, all this was his fault. “H-how much would the teacup cost to replace?”

The young girl’s expression softened. “Don’t worry about that, sir. Father has a fund for these sorts of things. We always lose a few cups every year. It’s nothing.”

The young private nodded. “Thank you. F-for the tea, and the food. I’m sorry I fucked it all up.”

Xanthippi gave a small, reassuring smile. “You sang very well. I mean it. I was going to tell you that earlier, but you were talking with Sergeant Gendry.” She paused to glance at the dwarven-made clock that hung above the tavern fireplace. “You can stay as long as you need to by the way, just until you feel more like yourself.” 

Urilar shook his head. “I should go. I could really use some sleep.” 

“Couldn’t we all,” Xanthippi laughed. “Be well, sir. May the All-Mother bless you.”

The Private couldn’t help but feel somewhat touched by the sentiment, even if he found most references to the deity worshipped by human civilians to be rather quaint. “Thank you. Same to you.”

She bowed slightly as he took his leave. 

It felt nice to get out in the cold air, to stretch his wings and glide over the glistening ocean under the light of the two waxing moons. Getting into bed was even nicer, even though the barracks at the fort reeked of ale. Urilar tried very hard not to think of his meeting with Silvanis the next day, but it was hard. Suddenly, he remembered that he also had scout training with Sergeant Gendry. Of course, this prompted a large wave of excitement and longing to surge in his chest. _I hope he talks to me again_ , Urilar thought. _I know I’m a dogshit elf, and a dogshit soldier, and a dogshit scout, but I really, really hope he talks to me again._


End file.
